


Like Dreams Passing Through Walls

by sparklight



Category: Carmilla - All Media Types, Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breasts, Dubious Consent, F/F, Somnophilia, Tentacle Sex, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19216831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: A collection of short ficlets either thoroughly AU, or more or less canon compliant, centering on Laura and Carmilla.





	1. Empress

The empress of Immortal Europa is everything, and absolutely nothing, like Laura would have expected. She's sweet, and lazy, volatile and surprisingly warm. She's like a snake sunning itself, poison fangs tucked away out of view. That she's _here_ , sitting on the grandest seat the schloss could provide, her dainty feet peeking out from under trailing layers of silk so thin she can see the shape of her ankles, the curve of her calves, through them, is improbable to start with. 

That she's seen fit to pay attention to the straggling remains of her mortal family, gleaming in the middle of the jewels of vampiric royalty like a badly cut and poorly polished gem... Laura knows enough to understand this is either a great honour and gift, or a threat to their continued well-being.

She had wished for company, but _this_...

"What are you thinking of, darling?" Empress Mircalla's voice is sweet, and smoothly dark. It settles in the back of Laura's throat like fine chocolate, and she dares to peer up through her lashes. The startling red of Mircalla's gown both emphasizes the delicate flush of colour on her cheeks and the shadows cast across her pale limbs, between the valleys of her breasts, pushed so high they almost spill over---

Laura pulls her eyes away, but they wander back, drawn like a moth to a flame. This is _not_ how you look at a woman, even less the vampiric ruler of most of Europe. She does not know why she's staring.

Laura has always been good at not being honest with herself, not _listening_ to what her mind might already have realized, and this moment is not an exception. So she stares at the empress' barely concealed body with a flush crawling down her throat and staining her chest and doesn't understand _why_.

"O-only why, I was called up here, Your Majesty."

She knows. Some part of her knows, throbbing in her veins like a herd of panicking horses, pooling warm in her gut, and the slim, delicate little hand that comes out to grasp her chin, tipping her head back as Mircalla leans forward, her dark eyes shining, says she knows that she knows.

"Blood calls to blood, and all caterpillars must come out of their cocoons at some point, dearest Laura."

She can see the outline of stiff nipples under the too-thin layers of the empress' dress, prominent like the fangs in Mircalla's small, sweetly smiling mouth, dark not with blood, but paint. She can feel her own nipples stiffen at the sight, and flushes even as she hurriedly looks up to meet those sparkling eyes. It's a mistake, because now she's trapped, but she cannot look away.

"You say the most incomprehensible things, Yo---"

"Call me Carmilla, Laura. And I will show you, so you can stop lying to yourself."

Her insides quiver, because that is as much a threat as it's a promised gift, and Laura doesn't know (actually doesn't, for once) which it might turn out to be.


	2. Carmilla's Peculiar Feeding Method

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To love is to feed your beloved of your own body... whether you know it or not.

Laura was sleeping. She seemed to glow in the light from the single candle, down to the last inch by now, and this was surely the closest she'd ever get to an angel. The dear girl certainly seemed like one, sometimes, awake or asleep. 

Creeping closer, Carmilla allowed herself to solidify as she sat down on the bed, ghosting fingertips over Laura's cheek, brushing flyaway strands behind her ear. Of course, the darling girl could be embarrassingly _naive_ in some things, and as much as it gave her greater license, it was frustrating. Though, Carmilla was rather sure her darling had a habit of lying to herself, and that was truly the real problem, compared to naivety. Naivety could be educated, but someone used to, even if not knowingly, deluding themselves? Well, even such things could be remedied.

At the moment though, she didn't care. 

All she cared about was the gleam of golden hair, neatly braided. A rope fit for royalty, and she wound a couple strands about her fingers as she leaned in, the bed shifting under her weight. Laura mumbling something, voice soft and heavy, unintelligible words slurred by sleep, before subsiding again. What Carmilla cared about was the smooth, pale skin, gilded by the candle, the perfect rose bow of a mouth. Unable to resist, she leaned down and ghosted a kiss over it, Laura's breath washing over her face like a benediction. What she cared about was the graceful arc of Laura's pretty, pretty neck, swooping down like a swallow's wing towards her collarbones, and her beautiful hands, clutching the coverlet.

Even more than that... With a smile, Carmilla tugged the sleeping gown open with careful little tugs and twists of her fingers, baring creamy skin that curved out into one of one of the most fantastic pairs of breasts she'd ever had the chance to lay her eyes (and teeth) on. They swelled with graceful heaviness out towards her arms, down towards her chest, shadowing Laura's torso below them. The nipples were like pink roses against the nearly translucent skin, pale veins pulsing soft invitation. Laura was so beautiful like this, though not just because she was asleep; she was more honest with herself, in her dreams. It did make it rather hard to be patient, but now that she was getting moments like these, it made up for it. 

Carmilla leaned down, pecking a kiss to first one, then the other cute nipple. Both of them hardened instantly under her lips. Honest, indeed.

"Oh... Carmilla..." Laura sighed, head tilting back, long, dark gold lashes fluttering heavily against her cheeks but never rising. She was having a very pleasant dream that she would not quite remember upon waking. She took so well to those too, which only drew Carmilla to her even more, for no matter how Laura withdrew or denied and then leaned in again, she never rebuffed her completely. Laura was blooming for her, reluctant and confused; how could she not attend to the pretty flower that was opening up? Like now.

"Feed me, darling, as my love waters you," Carmilla murmured against the full curve of Laura's breast, and bit down, smothering her moan against soft flesh and the hot spill of blood.

Laura jerked, gasping, but didn't wake; instead her hands flew to the loose, wild tresses of Carmilla's hair and wound themselves there, keeping Carmilla in place as she suckled, the nipple still stiff in her mouth as blood ran around it. Her mouth was full of warm, soft skin, slick with blood, and Laura was shuddering, twitching little jerks of her hips as her dream wove together with reality. She arched and gasped quietly, half-uttered pleas dripping from her sweet lips and only silencing with a last, stiff shudder when Carmilla finally drew back with a generous lick to the bite wound around Laura's nipple.

"Sleep well, dearest Laura."


	3. Dress to Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breasts can be part of your body language, didn't you know?

After leaving Styria with Carmilla, Laura slowly learned that it was quite possible, however unlikely and outlandish it seemed at first, to tell Carmilla's mood by the style of dress she chose. More specifically, how those dresses clothed her... ah, breasts. 

Laura knew very well it wasn't proper to stare, but what was _proper_ anymore, truly? The rules had all changed, while the world remained the same around her. And in any case, she had some license, did she not..? It still felt ridiculous to draw such conclusions, but what else was she supposed to think, when, in contrast to Carmilla's languid gestures and her sparklingly animated voice, her décolletage really did seem to add nuance to her mood and body language.

For example; when she was feeling particularly amorous, her dresses would be low enough, her breasts bound high enough, to reveal practically all except the barest nod to modesty by the nipples (dusky rose against Carmilla's peachy-pale skin) being covered. 

If she truly felt as withdrawn and languid, a sort of melancholia Laura thought she understood and shared, just a little, nowadays, there would be layers of black lace ruffles around and over her breasts, like a mourning veil. 

Whenever Carmilla was struck by a peculiar aggravation, being sharply cutting and warm with her in turn (but always haughty and cruel to others), her breasts would be nearly as much on display as when she felt truly playful, but covered by the sheerest of shawls, like a bare shroud of decency over the monster underneath.

It was very curious, but it gave Laura insights she didn't have before. Nuances that hadn't been revealed while Carmilla was hosted at the schloss, but were now drawn back out to supplement Carmilla's everyday behaviour. So when observation kept bearing her thesis out, Laura accepted it as merely another quirk of this strange, fey woman she'd allowed to pull her into the bloody dark. 

Perhaps she could also admit she enjoyed the varying displays.

Just a little.


	4. Dreams Like We're Reading Lovecraft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinktober day 5! (tentacles for the list I'm using) :)
> 
> Why not use Carmilla's powers in a slightly stretchy way...

Laura woke up to shadowy tendrils around her neck, stealing down the collar of her nightgown and, despite that her covers were undisturbed, sliding up around one leg. The room was dark - oppressively so - and she startled, but the gasp was immediately muffled when another tendril, larger than the others, shoved itself past her slightly parted lips, air pushed back down again along with it, and into her mouth. Shadow ought not be solid, but her mouth was full, darkness twining around her tongue, teasing the back of her throat without triggering any urge to heave, not even when the tendrils around her throat tightened.

Whining around the constriction, her body trembling as she clawed at the sheets, fought her other arm free to reach - nothing. Despite the fullness in her mouth, sliding lazily back and forth, she could touch _nothing_ , for shadows were intangible. Why had she thought different?

The candle on her bedside was dark, and yet Laura could somehow see her bed well enough to know what was happening, see the slightly darker eels pooling over her bed, down the sides... and nothing beyond that. Fear made her skin prickle, made her stomach knot and her mouth dry, and yet...

Yet, there was a prickle of sensation, tingling ticklishness that went deeper into genuine sparks, when the tendrils down her nightgown curved again and again around her breasts, moving like waves and tightening, like they were binding her up whine not actually _moving anything at all_ , and even more so as they brushed against her nipples.

"Nnh!" Moaning something that was as much protest as it was reaction to the pinching tightening, like a noose, around each of her soft nipples and they were worked until they were hard, Laura stared up at the invisible ceiling, heartbeat hammering like a panicked bird throwing itself against the golden bars of its cage and knew not how to respond to this.

It was impossible, it was terrifying, and it was incredible.

It had to be a dream.

Though why she should dream such awful things, she didn't know. Perhaps her mind was seeking relief from the usual dreams of creeping darkness biting her breast, for this was certainly... certainly _different_ from that.

A brush against her innermost folds made her finally struggle. She fought against the covers and the tendrils, tried to roll away from them, to close her legs, but with her breath coming in heaving shudders Laura found herself with her legs spread under the covers and the covers themselves heavy on top of her, bands of darkness weighing the blanket and covers down, and her arms twisted up around her head, around her hair and inky blackness both, golden strands in contrast to the darker ropes.

Her nipples were pinched, and the sliding loops of darkness pulled outwards, but not away from her breasts and soon the covers tented with the peaking fullness of her breasts pulled away from her chest. Laura's muffled protest was stuffed with startled heat, for that felt--- her sex was touched again, teasing flickers rubbing against her while tendrils slid in caressing loops around her thighs, the back of her knees, around her throat.

 _Down it_ , forcing her mouth open and pressing against the restriction around her throat, silencing her completely while filling her with the strangest of sensations as it massaged her mouth and throat from the inside, almost the same as the touch against her skin on the outside.

Writhing, she could get nowhere; all she did was rub herself against the many loops of darkness wound around, _against_ her, and Laura swallowed around the constriction on her throat, felt her hips start working against the things down there, an especially small one twining itself around her secret little stiffness, which hardened further and sent dizzying sparks through her.

She didn't understand, she couldn't think, and the darkness heaved around her as her nipples ached with the attention brought to them, pulling, twisting movements that left her arching up, helplessly, until she stiffened and slumped back, sinking into her bed, the shadows wound around her until she knew nothing more than that.

Laura woke up with a sore throat, sore nipples, but no marks.

She chose to say nothing, to the doctor, to her father, to a concerned Carmilla wondering if she'd slept entirely all right, for she looked exhausted? Laura chose to reassure them all that she had rested fine - and weirdly, she _did_ feel well-rested, a lingering warm lassitude in her body which contrasted against the melancholic apathy in her mind, and smiled.

Such strange dreams couldn't be imparted to anyone, even doctors or close confidantes. It had only been a dream, anyway.


End file.
